In the heart of a Scottish valley, a thick mist rolled in like a curtain and engulfed the world. Silence hung in the air as if time had stopped. Gray hills loomed silently overhead, gazing down at a hidden spot long considered cursed ground. No sane person dared to venture there.
There used to be a portal here—an ancient opening to another world. Now, it has vanished as if it never existed, leaving only a remnant of silence disguised as peace. But beneath the mist, something still pulsed—a secret the outside world would never understand.
Something had awakened.
---
In the cave at the heart of the valley stood a giant stone furnace, surrounded by dried blood and ashes from the creatures that had once roared within. Their screams had faded into faint echoes on the damp stone walls.
A man stood there. His body was torn apart, with bones piercing his skin as if the god of death had rejected him. But for him, the pain was only a memory.
He reached out and accepted a glob of blood that had risen from the furnace. The thick liquid pulsed as if recognizing its owner. Slowly, it seeped into the flesh and merged with the veins. The wounds closed, the bones reattached themselves, and the shattered body rose from the ashes.
Morgan Welshman disappeared. All that remained was William Langley.
William took a deep breath. His jet-black hair grew rapidly and fell wildly down his back. His body stretched tall and strong, forming a new figure different from the frail man he once knew.
He didn't say a word. Words were no longer necessary.
He descended the stone steps. His shoes pressed against the wet moss, producing an echo shrouded in silence. He emerged from the cave, now devoid of threat, into the valley mist.
---
The sky above the valley was dark and starless. Only mist remained: dark and still. But William noticed a small movement in the grass.
A butterfly with broken wings struggled to fly. It was fragile and almost lifeless, yet still fighting against the end.
William crouched down and extended a finger. The tiny creature crawled, expending its last bit of strength to land. William's gaze was blank, but something flickered faintly within it—perhaps recognition, or even cold pity.
A tinge of mana seeped through his fingertips. The cracked wings began to glow silver, coalescing and shining brightly. In an instant, the butterfly took flight, leaving behind a trail of light drifting toward the dark sky.
William looked up and watched it until it disappeared into the mist.
Then, he turned around.
He walked back down the valley. The mist slowly enveloped him until only silence remained.
***
The image returned.
William walked through the thick fog; silence echoed like a whisper from the grave. Faint screams crept in, mingling with the scent of blood and the silver glint of a butterfly wing he had once touched. He reached out, but everything dissolved, lost in the endless mist.
William woke with a gasp.
He glanced around briefly before realizing that he was still in the cramped room. The rickety bed with the thin mattress that creaked with every movement was still there. The old table with one crooked leg and the doorless cupboard gaping like a rotting mouth in the corner were still there, too.
The remnants of the dream faded slowly as morning light seeped through the gap in the wooden window. William sat on the edge of the bed and brushed back his long, tangled black hair. His dark brown eyes stared at the sky, which was turning golden.
A soft knock interrupted his reverie.
"Will, if you're awake, could you please buy some milk and soy milk? We're running low." The soft, serene voice belonged to Sister Margaret, the orphanage's caretaker.
William took a deep, half-lazy breath.
"Yes, Sister," he replied, his irritation barely concealed.
He took his time. He washed his face in a small basin of cold water, then stood in front of the cracked mirror. The cracks resembled lightning bolts, splitting his reflection into odd pieces. He haphazardly tied his black hair into a slightly tilted ponytail.
His clothes looked foreign, as if they refused to belong to a normal orphanage student. He wore a red maple leaf shirt with white stripes along the edges and paired it with worn boots.
As soon as the door opened, two pairs of eyes met his at the threshold:
Arthur and Melissa. The orphanage siblings who were four years his junior.
"What's wrong?" William asked dryly, his eyes narrowed lazily.
Arthur, a blond teenager with an innocent-looking face, snorted.
"I really don't understand. Your face is a mix of handsome and beautiful. But your mouth? It's like a barbed whip."
Melissa covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, her cheeks flushing. William raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.
"If you just want to interrupt my morning, the exit is right there."
Among the orphanage children, William always seemed different. Too different. His face was too perfect.
He had porcelain-white skin that never burned, even when he was sent to work outside. It left only a faint blush, like an autumn apple. His gaze was deep—too deep for an orphan. His eyes seemed to carry something that didn't belong in this world.
"From the side, I'm sure he's a beautiful girl with unusual makeup..." Arthur muttered softly. "But from the front—oh my God—he looks like a noble prince who was lost in an orphanage."
"Will… I don't know who else to ask for help. We don't want to bother the Pastor. You're the only one we can trust."
William stared at the girl. His face was soft and hopeful yet tinged with fear. A faint, smirking smile appeared on his lips—not friendly, but more like a trap.
"If this is just cheap, I'm not interested. Unless you can pay me."
Arthur growled in frustration. "Ahh! He's so annoying!" He ran his hand through his hair dramatically.
William glanced at them sarcastically, then turned away with a casual wave.
"Find someone else, you spoiled brats," he said.
His steps were light and indifferent. He left the room, leaving the two teenagers to stare at each other in annoyance and despair.